Death of a Sweep (6 page)

She knocked at the door. A tall old man with a long grey beard opened the door and stared down at her. ‘Come ben,’ he said abruptly. ‘You will be thon lassie who is a sidekick to our Elspeth.’

‘I’m in charge now,’ said Betty importantly. She looked around curiously, at the peat fire in the hearth with a blackened kettle on a chain hung over it, at the Orkney chairs on one side of the hearth and the battered wing chair on the other.

She handed Angus the box of biscuits. ‘Cut price at Patel’s,’ he said. ‘I thocht you lot would have had better expenses.’

Betty’s sallow face coloured up in embarrassment. ‘Sit down,’ commanded Angus.

Betty made to sit down in the wing chair but Angus said, ‘That’s mine,’ so she sat down on one of the Orkney chairs while he settled down and surveyed her with a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

‘So you want to take Elspeth’s job away from her,’
commented
Angus.

‘Not at all. I am making enquiries because she is ill.’

‘I wouldnae pin your hopes on her being out o’
commission
for long,’ said Angus. ‘The swine flu comes bad but it can be quite short and she’s a healthy lass.’

‘I’ve heard you see things,’ said Betty gamely. ‘I think maybe we’re looking in the wrong place and the murders might have been committed by someone local.’

Angus studied her for a long moment. She wondered uneasily what he was thinking. Angus was not thinking about Betty. He was thinking maliciously about Hamish Macbeth.

He had overheard a tourist last summer asking about the ‘famous seer’ and heard Hamish say with a laugh, ‘I think he relies more on local gossip than second sight.’

Angus was vain and had the highland habit of plotting revenge long after the event.

‘Now, Elspeth got a lot of her information up here before,’ he said, ‘from Hamish Macbeth. Very keen on Hamish is our Elspeth. We all thought at one time that they’d get married, but, och, he kept backing off. Don’t interfere there, my girl, or you’ll really hurt Elspeth and she would not like you getting information that would put her in the shade.’

‘I would do nothing to hurt Elspeth,’ said Betty. ‘I must be on my way.’

Aye, and straight from here to the police station, thought Angus cynically.

He watched from the window as she hurried down the brae, and then he clutched at the sill. It seemed as if a dark shadow was creeping across the heather to engulf her. He shook his head and the vision disappeared.

But Hamish Macbeth was not at his police station. He was on his road to Inverness. He thought not enough had been done to investigate the woman who had helped to abduct Philomena.

He drove into the car park of the Dancing Scotsman, went into the bar, and asked to speak to the waitress who had previously been interviewed by the police. A plump waitress came forward wearing her uniform of frilly white blouse and Buchanan tartan pinafore dress.

‘I’m sure I cannae tell ye more than I’ve already told the police afore,’ she said.

‘Maybe we could just sit down and have a wee chat,’ suggested Hamish. The waitress, whose name was Rose Cameron, looked around the near-empty bar.

‘Won’t do any harm. It’s fair quiet.’

‘I know you’ve been through all this before and I’ve read the reports. But if you could just be describing her to me again.’

Hamish was in plainclothes and was driving an old car borrowed from the garage in Lochdubh, not wanting to alert Inverness police that he was poaching on their patch.

Rose was quite old for the job. Her face was wrinkled, and her sagging mouth showed that she had lost all her teeth some time ago. ‘Let’s see,’ she said. ‘She was a bit on the fat side, dressed in a suede jacket and trousers. Her hair was hidden under one of those tweed fishing hats.’

‘Face?’

‘Roundish. Maybe she’d been to the dentist because she had a wee bittie difficulty speaking, as if her mouth was still frozen.’

‘What kind of accent?’

‘Posh. Lowlands. She came up to the bar for her first drink afore she joined that dead woman and I heard her telling the barman she was from Edinburgh.’

Hamish brightened. He now had one fact that the police had missed.

‘And she didn’t pay by credit card?’

‘No, cash. We were busy at the time so I didn’t take much notice.’

‘Did the Inverness police examine the tape from the security cameras?’

‘They tried. But the boss is a bit mean ower small things and there wasn’t any tape in there.’

‘She surely wasn’t wearing gloves. There must have been some fingerprints.’

‘By the time they got around to asking, her glass had been washed and the table she sat at wiped clean.’

Hamish asked a few more questions and then returned to his hired car, deep in thought. Would a ruthless
murderer
want a woman around who could identify him? Maybe blackmail him?

The wives of his four suspects were all in Guildford at the time of Philomena’s abduction and murder with plenty of witnesses. He frowned as he remembered the police reports.

The four men had pretty much alibied one another. But it would take only one of them to be the murderer with his mates covering up for him.

He drove back to Lochdubh as fast as the old banger of a car he had rented would let him.

Sonsie and Lugs were waiting outside the police station for him. He had forgotten to feed them before he left but he was pretty sure the pair of them would have gone along to the kitchen door of the Italian restaurant, where the staff spoiled them. They could come and go by a large cat flap in the kitchen door of the police station.

‘They’ve been fed,’ said a voice behind him.

He swung round. Angela Brodie, the doctor’s wife, stood there, her soft wispy hair blowing around her thin face. ‘They were eating like pigs outside the Italian restaurant. Lugs is particularly fond of osso buco.’

‘I’ll make us some coffee,’ said Hamish.

‘How’s the case going?’ asked Angela when they were seated at the kitchen table.

‘Not well.’

‘Been to see Elspeth? She’ll soon be past the infectious stage.’

‘I’ll head up there later. What should I take her?’

‘I think she would like something easy to read.’

‘I’ll look for something. I’d better check that those four bastards have left the area.’

‘Do you suspect one of them?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘But why? I gather Davenport owed them all money, but they all seem to be pretty well off.’

‘I think I’m dealing with a psychopath with an
overweening
vanity.’

When Angela had left, Hamish went through to the police office and called Jimmy Anderson.

‘Jimmy, this is one hell of a long shot. It’s about that woman who helped our murderer abduct Philomena.’

‘What about her?’

‘I think she was in disguise.’

‘Stands to reason.’

‘I mean I think she had stuffed her face and body to make herself look fatter. The waitress said she spoke as if she’d just been to the dentist. And she said she was from Edinburgh.’

‘What are you getting at?’

‘Could you do me a favour? Could you get on to Edinburgh police and give them, say, the day after Philomena’s murder, or the day after that, and ask if there were any suspicious deaths in Edinburgh?’

‘The damn city’s probably got a long list. Okay, I’ll let you know.’

‘I’m going out to take my beasts for a walk.’ ‘Hamish, I probably won’t get back to you until this evening.’

‘I’ll be waiting.’

Hamish put down the phone. He felt a draught on the back of his neck and went into the kitchen. The door was slightly open. He frowned. He was sure he had shut it. Sonsie and Lugs were nowhere in sight. He decided to go
out and look for them. He locked the kitchen door, put the key up in the gutter above the door, and set off.

Betty crept out from behind the henhouse, where she had fled when she had heard Hamish put down the phone.

She quickly nipped up to the kitchen door, took the key down from the gutter, and let herself in.

Inside the police-station office, Betty took a small,
powerful
tape recorder out of her bag and searched for a place to hide it. There was a shelf of files above the desk. She set it up there and let herself out, heading off up the back way, through Hamish’s grazing flock of sheep, and made her way by a roundabout route back to the hotel.

She had read about Hamish in the Glasgow office. With any luck he might be on to something and she could steal the show from Elspeth

Hamish found Lugs and Sonsie along the waterfront, took them back to the police station, and loaded them into the Land Rover. He collected a pile of old paperbacks and headed off for the Tommel Castle Hotel.

He was met by Dr Brodie, who told him that it might be an idea to leave Elspeth alone for another couple of days although she appeared to be much better. Hamish handed him the pile of books and asked him to take them up to her.

He drove off towards the police station. Rain was
smearing
the windscreen. For once the wind of Sutherland had deserted the county. The waters of the loch lay still and dark, and the pine forest opposite was obscured by mist.

He parked at the police station. Lugs and Sonsie
followed
him in. Lugs gave a sharp bark, and the fur on Sonsie’s back was raised. Hamish stood inside the door, listening, waiting, and sniffing the air. There was a faint smell of perfume. He went back out to the Land Rover and collected his forensic kit. He sprinkled powder on the entrance to the kitchen and then carefully dusted it.
Footprints. Not his. Small and neat. He sat back on his heels. He went to the police-station office on his knees, powdering and dusting as he went. The footprints stopped in front of his desk. He fingerprinted in his office until he found the powerful little tape recorder hidden behind the files. Hamish carefully fingerprinted it as well. He went out and back to the waterfront. Toddling through the mist came the Currie sisters.

‘Nice soft day,’ said Nessie.

‘Soft day,’ murmured her sister.

‘Press been bothering you?’ asked Hamish.

‘They’ve mostly gone,’ said Nessie.

‘Gone,’ echoed Jessie dolefully.

‘Excepting that wee lassie, her that came up wi’ Elspeth,’ said Nessie as Hamish tuned out the echo that was Jessie. ‘I think she tried to call on you but you were away. I saw her near the police station.’

Hamish returned to the station. Putting on a pair of latex gloves, he turned on the recorder, listened to the noise of his search, and erased it. Then he put the recorder on his desk, dialled Strathbane headquarters, and cut off the call before anyone could answer so that there would only be the sound on the tape recorder of the dialling beeps. He pretended to be speaking to Jimmy Anderson. ‘Jimmy, this is Hamish,’ he said, his voice full of excitement. ‘I think I’ve got our man. He’s camping on the beach at Durness. I’m off up there for a recce. Don’t send the troops yet, I’ll phone you from there.’

He turned to his pets, who were studying him.

‘Come along. I know ye don’t like the siren but we’re going to blast out o’ this village.’

On the waterfront, Betty swung round as Hamish’s Land Rover sped past with the siren going and the lights
flashing
. She made her way by a roundabout route to the police station. Once inside, she eased the tape recorder out from
behind the files where Hamish had replaced it and switched it on. Her eyes grew wide with excitement. She went out quickly up to the back fields and called the soundman and the cameraman. ‘Big break on the story,’ she said. ‘Pick me up in Lochdubh. I’ll be outside the shop on the waterfront.’

‘We’ll tell Elspeth,’ said George Lennox, the cameraman.

‘Don’t do that,’ said Betty quickly. ‘She’s too ill. May come to nothing.’

She went to Patel’s grocery store and waited impatiently outside until the large television Winnebago hove into view.

Hamish, hiding in a lay-by behind a strand of trees, watched the Winnebago rush by, heading north.

The television team stopped overnight at a small hotel and started out again at dawn. Betty’s heart rose as the weather changed. The wind rose from the west, driving away the rain and mist until the blue sky arched above. George Lennox was driving. He was rather surly in the way of some TV cameramen. Perhaps it was understandable, as the presenter on any programme got all the glory, no matter how dangerous the situation. Phil Green was small and cheerful and kept exclaiming at the beauty of the
landscape
. Up and down the narrow roads they went until at long last they drove into Durness and down to where a curve of pure white sand faced a green-and-blue sea.

There was no sign of any police Land Rover. Betty climbed stiffly down. It was still and quiet apart from the ceaseless sound of the sea.

She had a sudden queasy feeling of unease. ‘This is grand,’ said Phil. He had a thermos and a pack of
sandwiches
. He sat down on a flat rock and stared dreamily out to sea. ‘This is God’s country!’

‘This is the bloody end o’ the world that God forgot,’ said George, glaring at Betty. ‘Are you sure o’ this? There’s nobody camping on the beach.’

‘We’ll just need to search around,’ said Betty desperately.

‘You go and search,’ said Phil lazily. ‘Me, I’m staying right here until you find something.’

Betty scrambled up from the beach. There were ruined croft houses here and there. No people. The wind whistled amongst the ruins, and the sad cry of a curlew from the heather seemed to mock her.

Elspeth was feeling much stronger. She sat up in bed and then saw a note, which had been pushed under her door. She struggled out of bed and picked it up.

‘Dear Elspeth,’ she read. ‘Your wee researcher had the nerve to hide a tape recorder in my office so I sent her off on a wild goose chase to Durness. Get well soon. Hamish.’

Elspeth phoned the television station in Glasgow and asked for her boss. He listened in horror and then said, ‘Get her back down here. When you’re better, get back down yourself. We’ve had a lot of complaints about your replacement. And see if you can smooth over that bobby friend o’ yours before he sues us.’